Tag: fiction

It was September. 2001. I was glad I was missing a day of first grade, but I wasn’t glad that it was for a funeral. Six year olds don’t know a thing about death. It was just, “Great Grandpop is sleeping.”

“Forever?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t feel good the next morning. It was close to a tummy ache that even pop star Barbie had trouble fixing. Six year olds can’t comprehend.

“Why is Daddy yelling on the phone?”

“It’s nothing, Pumpkin.”

The overhead speaker is loud but calm. “We’re sorry, folks. We don’t know who is controlling our airspace. We have to evacuate the plane.”

“What’s going on, Mommy?”

“Stay close to me.”

Everyone was gathered around the TVs in the waiting area. One really tall building. On fire. People crying. Panicked.

“I’m not giving up! I’m going to get a platinum award at competition tomorrow!” The girl cried at her dance teacher. She marched away with tears streaming down her face, headed straight to the dance room.

The girl stood in the middle of the big square room. She pressed her hands to her face, rubbing and shaking her head. Trying to rub away the tears and pressure to be perfect. She walked closer to the mirror and stared straight into her owns eyes. A mental pep talk between herself and the girl in the mirror. She tightened her brunette ponytail until it had no chance of falling out when dancing. Then she fixed her black sports bra, untwisting the straps and then tugged at her nylon shorts that were starting to ride up.

She walked backward on the marley floor to the corner of the room where a large black speaker sat. She picked up her iPod and tapped on it forcefully to start the music. From there she quickly ran to the middle of the room and took a deep breath before getting into her starting pose.

The soft lyrical music started, and she began to move gracefully. Her right arm flowed up and then she turned around herself. She danced beautifully but suddenly stopped every movement to stand there and shake her head back and forth. Her eyebrows scrunched together, frustrated.

She sat down where she was and laid back onto the floor, staring at the ceiling. The music continued playing as she sprawled out. Her shoulders started to jerk. She was crying again.

As the music went on, her breathing got deeper. She stayed there until the song finished then slowly got up again. She dusted herself off and wiped away her tears as she ran over to start the music again. She did just as she did before, taking a deep breath and getting into her starting pose. Her right arm lifted and she turned around herself with the music. She kicked, leaped, and pirouetted all across the floor. Everything was perfect from head to toe. Her legs were straight, feet pointed, and arms graceful.

She went through the whole dance and finished with her final pose on the floor. She wasn’t even there for a second before she got up to start the music again, a cycle that happened nine more times.

“Blair, we’re waiting on you to lock up the studio,” her dance teacher popped her head in the room. She stared with tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes.

She put her hands to the sides of her head squeezing as if she were trying to get her head to stop overthinking. A single tear fell from her left eye, “I can’t leave. I need to be perfect.”

It’s the middle of the night and I have to run around the house. It’s routine. I don’t care if people are sleeping. It’s routine. I stretch my legs and back ready to dash. It doesn’t matter if I run into the wall or knock over a photo. That will be taken care of tomorrow. Should I jump on the bed? No! The counter is better. That’s where the food is kept. I run, picking up speed too fast. The scratching is loud against the floor. My ears pick up shifting in the other room. Uh oh. I quickly slide into the kitchen, careful not to be caught. The lights are off so I’ll blend in. Jumping on the counter I accidentally knock over a cereal box. Thud. It’s tempting to knock down the cup left in front of me. I stretch my arm. Should I? Maybe I’ll slowly push it off. Slow. Slow. I watch as the cup falls off the counter. Thud. The footsteps are quick. The lights flick on.

Blaire Donovan adjusted the black pointy witch hat on her head in the body mirror in front of her. With her green eyes, she examined her pale skin and her long black straight hair that curled at the ends. She wore a black baby doll dress with poufy sleeves, black tights, and black combat boots. It looked no different than her everyday wear, just today she included the hat. Blaire started singing along to a Blink 182 song that was playing on her vintage record player when something caught her attention in the mirror. Her black cat, Salem, was knocking bobby pins off her dresser. There was a ping every time one hit the floor. She watched through the mirror as he moved towards a glass of water. His tiny black paw was raised… ready to push it off.

“Salem!” she quickly turned to shoo him off the dresser, but he jumped and dodged. Knocking over mini ceramic candy corns and scattering polaroid pictures of Blaire and her friends everywhere. She chased Salem around the room, her boots scuffing against the dark hardwood floor. Salem jumped onto her bed and so did Blaire, crumpling the black comforter. Salem jumped off skidding against the black and white striped wall, making his way out of Blaire’s room.

“Salem! Get back here!” Blaire ran towards her door and jumped back when she saw her little brother standing there with a creepy clown mask. He didn’t move. He just stood there. Blaire was used to this.

Blaire put her hands on her hips, “Seriously, Dex. You got to do more than that to scare me.”

Blaire walked out of her room, pushing on her little brother’s shoulder, getting a ‘Hey!’ out of him. She walked down the stairs, holding onto the black stairwell. She could feel her brother creeping behind her but she didn’t have the patience to mess with him.

“Kids! Dinner’s ready!” Blaire heard her mom’s voice chime through the house. The Donovan’s had dinner as a family every night. It was a tradition.

“Coming!” Blaire yelled just as the doorbell rang. She was confused because no one ever comes over at 7 o’clock. All of Blaire’s friends knew she would be having dinner.

Blaire walks to the door. It was red in contrast to the house that was fully black and white. She turns the knob, opening it to a boy around her age, probably 17 or 18.

“Hi, is Blaire here?”

Blaire looked at him, head to toe. He had blonde hair and blue eyes. His eyes were darting back and forth. A light blue polo shirt covered what could be a muscular body and then dark blue jeans that didn’t match his red Converse. His feet kept moving, he couldn’t stand still.

“I’m Blaire. What do you want?” Blaire crossed her arms and raised her right eyebrow. She started tapping her foot when he didn’t answer right away.

The boy’s eyebrows scrunched together and he looked out into the street and then back at Blaire. “Uhh, are you a witch? I mean, it’s cool if you are? I… it’s February? Well, that’s not why I came here but…”

“It’s always Halloween in the Donovan house.” Blaire laughed at his nervousness. She shut the door before he could say anymore and headed to the dining room.

Emily rolls her eyes, “Stop, Cam. We’re only going to the grocery store. Please just help me.”

She continues shoving extra packs of baby wipes into the diaper bag while trying to balance the baby on her hip. The stroller is already by the door. The trunk is open with the car running, waiting to be packed.

“Oh, come on. It’s just like the road trips we had before Baby J.” Cam starts tickling the baby’s feet and she starts kicking, laughing. The baby starts wiggling in Emily’s arm.

Emily hands the baby over to Cam and picks up the bottles of milk, adding it to the diaper bag. She looks over to the other three bags on the island that are already full to the brim. She then glances over to the sink full of dishes and sighs.

“I think we have everything.” Emily places her hands on her hips and watches her husband make silly faces at the baby.

The last time they were on a roadtrip was over a year ago. Emily was 5 months pregnant when she returned home from their trip across the States. They saw the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. Passed through the Grand Canyon in Arizona. Went white water rafting in Colorado. Saw caves in Georgia. And watched the waves on the coast of Maine. Emily remembers listening to 90s music the whole trip before she found out that she was pregnant. She remembers how much fun she had and could understand why Cam got excited whenever they packed up to leave the house. Even if they were going five minutes away to the park, she would hear the familiar, “roadtrippppp.”

She smiles at Cam now, “maybe instead of the grocery store, we could visit my mom in California?”

Cam’s eyebrows scrunch together and then he smiles too, “I mean, we look like we’re packed to travel all the way across the states again.”

“I think Baby J will have as much fun as we did.” She gives her husband a quick kiss before walking into another room and coming back with a suitcase.

“Roadtrippppp!” Emily yells this time instead of Cam. He smiles and starts hopping around with Baby J.